


The Grey Enemy

by OneforAll



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforAll/pseuds/OneforAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set after the events of Shadow Fall  In this A/U events went differently for the last two episodes.  Rochefort is gone and it seems that all is well in the world of our newly loving couple.  Until a small problem...raises its head</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChancellorFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorFangirl/gifts).



The Grey Enemy 

it was one morning three or four weeks into their affair that Aramis first noticed the intruder. It was a lovely bright autumn morning. While Athos was in the bathroom, Aramis had been running a comb hurriedly through his hair. He was trying to get ready quickly so they could get some breakfast before reporting for duty, and humming a pleasant little tune under his breath as he looked in the mirror. 

The shadow cast by Rochefort had been lifted from their lives. The royal family were safe, Milady had disappeared and for the first time since he and Athos became lovers it felt like they were sailing in slightly less choppy waters. There was of course Athos's impending promotion and the changes it would bring to their lives but he was sure that united as they now were, they would deal with them. The only problem--if you could call it a problem--he thought, giving a little smirk to his mirror image, having always being used to allowing himself time on a morning to take care of his appearance, he was now usually found the process very rushed. This was because although waking up early, as was normal, the first sight that greeted Aramis when he opened his eyes was Athos, looking at him. In that way. Eating Aramis up with his eyes, as though he'd rather skip breakfast and have him instead. And that was very...distracting. Aramis smiled hazily, running the comb through his fringe, which he thought was looking a little straggly, possibly in need of a trim. 

And then he saw it. A trick of the light, surely? He looked more closely. The sunlight, however, was too cruel in its brightness for him to deny the truth. It was a grey hair. 

He looked at it again. It was still there. And all the buoyant joy he'd felt, at Athos's loving, and the morning sunshine, began to deflate and ebb away. 

Since he'd come into his thirties, he'd felt like a man in his prime. Seasoned, wiser than he'd been in his twenties; perhaps at a peak of his physical fitness and appearance. A feeling that inspired confidence and self-belief: essential for a life as a musketeer. And having embarked on the most important love affair of his life, he very much wanted to be in his prime. But this...intruder, this interloper in his dark hair, was like a portent. That his prime was peaking, passing... 

And that other realisation, never too far from his consciousness, that there were others out there. All around them. Coming into their prime or in it. Attractive men. Younger men at the court or in the regiment whose interest lay in their own sex. Some of whom he'd seen casting appreciative covert glances in Athos's direction. What if-- 

His reverie was cut short by the sound of Athos exiting the bedroom next door where he'd been getting ready and coming into to collect his weapons belt. 

"You nearly ready?" 

The illicit thrill that Aramis so often felt these days at the sound of Athos's voice ran through him. It didn't really matter what the other was saying; it could be the most mundane subject in the world but it still produced a lovely little tremor in Aramis's gut. And when they were in bed, and he used *that* tone: the one like honeyed velvet.... 

Aramis shook himself, trying to focus on the present as Athos came into the room, buckling on his belt. 

"Yes, almost!" he called back, with a final rueful glance in the mirror, trying to cover his discomposure. At least the grey hair wasn't too obvious. Yet. He tucked his shirt into his breeches and reached for his doublet, finding that his fingers were fumbling slightly with the buttons. The sight of his lover, belting on his sword and pulling on his gloves had always been a pleasurable one to him. Putting on his armour, like a knight of old, creating the persona of Athos the warrior; the King's musketeer. Loving the difference between the public image and his own private and treasured knowledge of the real man. 

Usually he loved the gaze Athos passed over him when they were getting ready to face the world. Even if the appreciative warmth in it left him feeling more undressed than dressed. Today however he felt disturbed for other reasons and he knew he'd betrayed some of it by his slight irritation as he fastened on his own weapons belt. Those perceptive hazel eyes missed very little.. 

"What is it?" his lover said, standing back on one heel in a way that did nothing to aid Aramis's composure. The idea of discussing it--the grey hair--felt mortifying and at the moment, quite impossible. 

"Oh, it's just that these days we always seem to be rushing to get ready!"he declared, knowing he sounded a little testy. 

Athos favoured him with a wonderfully laconic smile. "And this is, somehow,... my fault?" 

"Yes, it's...the way you look at me when I wake up!" Aramis felt all fingers and thumbs as he tied his sash around his waist, swearing softly under his breath as he knotted it the wrong way. 

Athos came over to him, murmuring "Let me...", undoing the knot then tied the sash properly. He looked deceptively cool as he continued, "I don't think that it's my fault..." He leaned in closer, whispering in the other's ear, "If you look so fucking wonderful that I want to fuck you all the time..." 

"And those words are wonderful to hear," Aramis responded, unable to stop melting inwardly. He gave Athos a little rueful look from under his lashes. "But not exactly helpful when we are trying to get to work on time. " 

Athos emitted a low, unapologetic chuckle and their heads gravitated together, lips grazing softly. The nobleman was proud of his control , mindful that if they let it become any more than that, they would be further delayed. But it was Aramis who gave into the temptation of putting his hand on the back of Athos's neck and delving his tongue briefly into the other's mouth, craving Athos's taste. Athos let his tongue curl caressingly around Aramis's for a moment, then pulled back, quirking his eyebrow in a way that said: "My fault?" 

He added with maddening calm, "We aren't late, But we’d better be off or else we will be." Aramis nodded and they made their way down the stairs. "What is the solution to this dilemma?" Athos asked teasingly as they made to pick up their capes. "Will I have to make an appointment? Only be allowed to look at you in certain ways at certain times? Or are we to go back to our old living arrangements?" 

Aramis stopped and turned towards him, a shocked, anxious look in his eyes. 

What is the matter with you my love, thought Athos. When I left to get dressed you looked like you didn't have a care in the world. Now you're all raw and jumpy and I want to know why. 

"Mon cher, I wasn't being serious!" he said reassuringly. "All we need to do is get up quarter of an hour earlier." 

"Yes, I dare say that will do," Aramis looked slightly more mollified but to Athos's eyes, still somewhat rattled as he shouldered himself into his cape. 

As he did likewise, Athos wondered if he had been overdoing the lordly teasing. And the morning loving. He only did it because usually the other seemed to like it so much. Or, could it be that, carried away with the headiness of their love affair, he'd been crowding Aramis a little too much? 

"Tell me what troubles you," he said firmly. 

"Nothing, At least, nothing worth speaking of," Aramis said with a smile that wasn't completely convincing. "Anyway, we need to be off." 

Oh, but we will speak of it, Athos promised himself. I will get to the bottom of it when we get home. He had to work hard to stifle a little surge of lust. Aramis was just slightly ahead of him on the stairs and he had a nice view of the other's deliciously firm rear. 

At the door they looked at each other: these days, almost a ritual these days before they left home. A squaring of the shoulders, a mutual checking that their public personas were in place. A little exchange of smiles, then out of the door to face the world. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of the handsome young corporal in my mind's eye is that of a certain 18th century Cornish landowner who's been setting our pulses racing on screen this year--but about ten years younger!


	2. chapter 2

The first half of Aramis's spell of sentry duty at the palace was largely routine, which was just as well, he thought as he sat on a bench in the kitchen with his fellow musketeer during their lunch break. He had been rather preoccupied by the matter of the grey hair all morning. 

"Ironic, isn't it?" d'Artagnan commented as they looked down at the bowls of stew in front of them with a mutual lack of enthusiasm. "Here we are in the heart of a palace, yet when we're here, we always get the most boring food in the world." 

Aramis tried a spoonful of the stew, which was to say the least, indifferent. He sighed. 

"Well, my friend, there is such a thing as a food chain, and we, sadly, are not at the top of it. The better stuff gets saved for our "Betters"." 

"You are so right." d'Artagnan stirred his stew a moment longer, then decided he was so hungry, he'd risk it anyway. Normally Aramis could relied on to use his famous charm with the cook, to get them rather more interesting victuals. However his friend had looked so preoccupied all morning that d'Artagnan hadn't had the heart to encourage him to try. The cook today had a face like an old boot and somehow he didn't think Aramis's slightly pensive air would be lifted by having to make the effort. 

"When we're done eating, I was thinking of sneaking up to see Constance," d'Artagnan ventured. "Just for a few minutes, before we go back on shift." 

"Oh, yes?" The corner of Aramis's mouth lifted into a teasing smile. 

As you would be popping back to the garrison to see our mutual friend, if it were feasible, thought the Gascon, returning the grin. "Oh yes. There has been talk of baking. And scones." 

"Scones?" This notion appeared to cheer Aramis a little. 

"Scones. Strawberry." 

"Strawberry?" 

"Strawberry," d'Artagnan affirmed, pleased to see his friend's expression brightening. 

"And will there be many of them?" 

"Plenty, if she follows her usual custom. Certainly enough for you and me." 

"And enough for--" 

"Yes, to take home for Milord. And Porthos, of course. She never leaves you out." 

This idea definitely pleased Aramis, who raised his tankard, offering a toast. "To Constance, who is a wonder, and to her scones, which are a miracle!" They clinked their tankards and took a swig of the porter they'd been served to wash down the meal; both grimacing, as it was even worse than the stew. "You are an extremely fortunate man!" 

"And don't I know it, brother!" d'Artagnan found himself smiling, not just at the thought of his fiancee but of her recent humorous comment that when they married, she'd be cooking for four men, not just one. 

They battled on gamely with the stew but even the thought of the scones didn't seem to lift Aramis's vaugely troubled air for long. d'Artagnan watched it settling over his friend again . This was not the happy, dreamy distraction that had amused Porthos and himself so much of late. It worried him a little. He decided to go in with his usual upfront manner, a tactic which he often found yielded results. 

""What's on your mind? Is everything all right with you and Athos?" 

Aramis looked over at him, blinking a little as though emerging from a daydream. 

"What..? Oh, yes, it's fine. It's nothing much; just a little problem of mine. Nothing to do with him. Well yet...he murmured abstractedly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Although it could be, Potentially...." 

D'Artagnan felt more mystified than ever by this strange, vague changeling who had replaced his normally direct and incisive companion. And of course it was his duty as a friend to try and guide Aramis out of this maze of confusion. 

"A problem shared, and all that," he said. "You can tell me anything, you know." 

Courage, d'Artagnan, he thought. If he starts talking about anything...intimate...you could be a bit out of your depth here... 

Such was the look of genuine concern on his younger friend's face that Aramis decided it might be of help if he could broach the subject on his mind. In a roundabout way, of course. 

"Your hair..." he venture, casting a glance at the Gascon's glossily healthy and enviously dark locks. "Do you do anything with it?" 

D'Artagnan didn't know quite what he'd expected to hear, but it wasn't that. Puzzled, he said slowly, "Well, it's not something I think about much, really. It's just there, growing out of my head. I give it a quick comb in the morning. Every now and again I get it trimmed, to stop Constance saying I Iook like a sheepdog. Every now and then Constance runs her hands through it, which is nice," he added, smilingly. "Otherwise, I don’t give it much thought. So, I'm...not quite sure what you mean." 

The impulse for one human being to share things with another can be quite primal, especially for a soul steeped in the catholic tradition of confession. Aramis gave in to the need, deciding to risk his friend's ridicule. 

"I found something this morning." He lowered his voice. "A grey hair." 

"A grey hair? Where?" d'Artagnan blurted out. He felt like he was in some sort of alternate reality, trying to process this strangely surreal conversation with his friend. 

"On my head!" Aramis glared at him. "Where d'you think?" he hissed, colouring slighty. 

D'Artagnan berated himself: so far, he was not making a very good job of this supportive confidante stuff. Do not laugh, he told himself. Do anything, but do not laugh. 

"Are you sure?" He scanned Aramis, who appeared to be his usual well-groomed self. "You don’t look any different to me." 

"Oh, it's there all right," Aramis said with grim certainty and with a little glance around to make sure no-one was looking, pointed to the offending follicle near his left temple. 

Leaning in for a closer inspection, d'Artagnan did at last see the grey hair, The one, very small, grey hair. 

"It's tiny, and there's only one of them. What of it?" 

"That's all right for you to say! You don't have any!" 

"Well, not yet, I'm younger than you. But sooner or later, I'm bound to get them," the Gascon countered in a reasonable tone. "It's a bloody wonder I haven't got a few already, hanging round with you lot! None of us are going to escape them. I guess it's just a sign we're getting older. Nothing to lose any sleep over." 

"I know that!" Aramis said irritably. "it's what it signifies. Other things.." 

"What, that we're a few days nearer meeting our maker?" D'Artagnan chuckled. He really didn't understand why his friend seemed so down. "You, of all people, should have a little credit stored up there, with all that praying you've done!" he joked. "Look, I know we all think about it now and again; can't help it. We're in a dangerous profession. Come on ! You're a man in your prime and with a little luck, you and Athos have a lot of good years ahead of you--" 

The nobleman's name had popped into his mind automatically. it was impossible now not to think about one without thinking of the other. But then light dawned, even before he saw a flash of pain in Aramis's eyes and knew he had trampled on a nerve. 

"Oh, mon Dieux! You really don't think that a grey hair--one grey hair--would put Athos off you?" He sounded just as stunned as he felt but he could see by the raw, vulnerable look on the other's face that he'd hit on something. 

"No, not straightaway. No today, or even tomorrow. But it will remind him, sooner or later, that there are...others around him. Younger..." 

"Others?" 

"Yes, others. Who look at him. Want him the way I do." Aramis looked at the table. ""And one day, he might look at them, then at me. And decide that maybe they have better things to offer him. " Then he lifted his gaze to meet d'Artagnan's disbelieving stare with a kind of flat, sad calm that pierced the Gascon to his heart. "Well, it's a possibility." 

"Oh yes, it's a possibility--about as likely as the sun not rising and setting every day! Good God, man," the Gascon responded spiritedly, " Did you actually look in the mirror this morning?" 

"Of course I did," Aramis retorted irritably, "Or I wouldn't have noticed the grey hair!" 

"Forget the damn grey hair! " D'Artagnan said. "Don't you think there's a reason they call you the best looking man in the regiment? In any case, this is Athos we're talking about. I don't think he can actually see anyone but you, let alone give any "others" a look in!" 

D'Artagnan could see that Aramis was absorbing what he was saying but still had a rather sceptical air about him. The Gascon shook his head in disbelief. There was no man in the Musketeers more entitled to wear the air of self-confidence and grace Aramis put on for the world to see. With all his advantages in looks, charm, wit and intelligence, it staggered d'Artagnan a little that his friend had any doubts in his ability to keep and hold someone as perceptive as Athos. 

"This is all very new to me," Aramis said quietly. 

 

Well, yes, it must be, d'Artagnan thought, with compassion and some fellow feeling. Although no-one would know it to look at you, I don't think you've ever been in love before--not the way you are with Athos. And, oh my poor friend, I know how that feels--like a ton of bricks fell on you! 

"Look," he said, putting his hand on his friend's arm, "You've got the advantage over me here: you've known him longer. But the Athos I know doesn't do short-term. I just don't see him starting something like he has with you unless he meant to stick with it. It's ….just not him. if it worries you that there are others hovering around who might affect what you have together, talk to him about it." 

"I'm not sure I can," said Aramis. 

"Why not?" d'Artagnan asked softly. 

Well...I'm a man And it makes me sound so...needy!" Aramis almost squirmed under d'Artagnan's perceptive gaze. "Oh, I knew I shouldn't have said anything," he muttered. "Thank you for trying to help. But I can't really expect you to understand. You can't know how this feels." 

"Can't I?" D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "Becaus I'm in love with a woman? Yes, it's diferent; of course it is. But the feelings...maybe not so much?" 

Aramis looked at him curiously and the Gascon knew he was going to have to reveal a bit more than usual about himself. He took a deep inward breath. It was, after all, in a good cause. 

"When I first came to Paris, I guess I thought a bit about myself. Gods, I don't need to tell you--Within minutes managed to engage all three of you in duels!" Aramis couldn't help but return his friend's grin at the memory of their first meeting. "Really, I was just a pushy lad from Gascony with a way with a sword and a lot of attitude. Then you three took me on, and I started to learn what honour really means. And then I met someone who made me feel the best I'd ever felt. That being with them was the place I belonged. Nowhere else, no--one else, would ever be the same." 

Aramis's eyes revealed to d'Artagnan that he knew just what he meant.

D'Artagnan continued. "Well, that's great, of course, but sometimes you get to thinking--how can someone like me deserve someone as special as her? So sometimes you start to doubt yourself. Do stupid things, say stupid things. Or don't say anything at all, which often makes it worse." He laughed ruefully. "Believe me, Constance and I have had our moments. But one things she'd taught me is that if you want to work it out, you have to talk to each other. Say what it is that's bothering you, even if you feel stupid or awkward. " He could see that he had Aramis's full attention by the tilt of his friend's head, the quietly appraising look. "Well, as you can imagine, it's usually me who's awkward and Constance who's wise, but sometimes she comes out wtih something she regrets and has to say sorry. So do I, then we laugh about it. And I know she loves me, and isn't going to stop any time soon." He paused for a moment. "Like I said, I don't think short-term is Athos's style. And I don't think it's yours--not when it really counts. And this...counts, doesn't it, brother?" 

Aramis, nodded, unable to prevent a little lump rising in his throat; moved by d'Artagnan's perceptiveness. 

This was the moment when the cook chose to come bustling back, complaining, "You musketeers, always cluttering up my kitchen! Why aren't you back at your duty?" as she cleared away their bowls. "Some of us have work to do, you know!" Then she got a closer look at Aramis and her scowl morphed into a simper. "Although you, you look as though you could do with a bit of feedlng up. Would you like some more of my stew, cherie?" 

It never fails, d'Artagnan thought. I might as well not exist. It's that pious look of his. He doesn't have to do anything; they flock around him like bees to honey. He deliberately tried not to look at Aramis, who was trying very hard not look at him but to concentrate on favouring the cook with a charmingly disingenuous expression. 

"Why thank you, Madame, but no. It was so delicious, we are replete and could not touch another morsel!" 

This seemed to please the old battleaxe, who simpered again, iike a young girl, and sashayed off across the kitchen with their plates, her skirts swishing around her. The two friends exchanged rueful, relieved smiles and Aramis looked, at the very least, a little less uneasy. 

"God, look at the time! If I am to catch Constance before I go back on roster I must go now!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. 

"Go!" Aramis urged him as they climbed to their feet and began to walk towards the exit clapping a hand on his friend's arm. "And thank you for listening." 

"We can talk more later, if you like, when we're off duty," the Gascon said equably. "But it's really Athos you should be talking to. " He threw a glance over his shoulder at the retreating bulk of the cook. "But take heart, brother! The grey hair has obviously not affected your power to make conquests!" 

Aramis couldn't help but smile at the impudent wink and nudge d'Artagnan gave him and nudged his friend back with his elbow as they fell into step and made their way out of the palace kitchens. 

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	3. Chapter 3

Aramis had to pass on some information to the officer in charge of the shift change when their spell of duty ended. While he was engaged in this d'Artagnan had volunteered to go and collect the horses from the stables. Aramis's task completed , he was waiting outside the palace when he saw Constance across the way, giving him a wave. She made her way over to him and he noticed she was carrying a small package, wrapped in a handkerchief. 

"Oh, hello, Constance! Have you come to say farewell to d'Artagnan? He's just gone for the horses." 

"Yes, though I was hoping to catch you too. As usual they delivered far too many pastries this afternoon. Some are blueberry, absolutely delicious. I thought you might like to share some with my Lord when you get home." Smiling, she handed over the package 

Aramis's face glowed with pleasure and he bowed over her hand and kissed it in his most courtly manner. "But you really didn't have to! You have already given us the scones, which are more than enough of a blessing for one day." 

"Well today, I thought you might need a little extra cheer," Constance said with a gentle smile. 

"Oh, d'Artagnan told you, didn't he?" Aramis raised his eyes heavenwards, unable to stop the slight flush of embarrassment spreading over his face. 

"Of your...small concern? Yes, he did," she replied. "But only because he was concerned about you, as his friend." 

"You must think me very vain!" Aramis couldn't help but squirm a little under that kind and perceptive gaze. 

"What?" She laughed. "I don't think vanity has anything to do with it! Evidence of the passage of time is not something anyone enjoys. Especially when one is in love, and that love is new, what is more natural than to wish that somehow time could stand still, be frozen, and that in the eye of our beloved, we could appear as we are now, at our epitome of form or face. That if we change, it could alter their affection. Women understand this fear more than men, you know," she told him. "This is a world ruled by men and sometimes a woman's only advantage may be her beauty." 

"Ah, but yours is the kind of beauty that will never fade," Aramis said truthfully. "For it comes from within as well as without." 

Constance flushed with pleasure and gave Aramis a flirtatious little curtsey. "Why, thank you, kind sir! That is most gallant. But may I be so bold," she added, still speaking gently, but more earnestly, "As to return the compliment? I know I've told you before that you're the most handsome man in the regiment, and you think it done in the spirit of teasing, such as friends like we do. But with no disrespect to my d'Artagnan, who I love with all my heart, i mean what I say. I don't think that a person of the judgement and perception of our mutual friend the comte sees only the beauty without when he looks at you, but that which lies within, which is just as great, if not greater." 

Aramis looked deeply touched by the compliment. "Constance, as usual, you are too kind to me!" 

"Nonsense!" she retorted, eyes twinkling. "You can never be too kind to those who deserve it. Does one so gallant as yourself try to question a lady's judgement?" 

"A lady like yourself? I should not dare!" Aramis smiled back at her and not for the first time, Constance thought what a truly beautiful man he was: something about the earnestness and grace in those dark eyes when he fixed you with such a look that could steal a heart away, were it not already given. 

"Well, if you take my advice, you will talk to our mutual friend, and I think you'll find that one, or any number of grey hairs, will not even signify with him. Though he no doubt appreciate what lies without, I think you'll find it’s what lies within," Constance emphasised her point by placing her hand on Aramis's chest, over his heart, "That he values more than anything. "You know, I think you could have a full head of grey hairs, or even horns, and it would not make a difference to him!" she teased. 

Aramis again looked full, and he took her hand in both of his, raising it to his lips and kissing it. "The grey hairs I may not be able to stop, but I hope to avoid the horns." His eyes crinkled at the corners and she thought how good it was to seek him look more like his usual happy self. "I don't suppose there's any point in trying to cover it up? A dye or some such?" 

"Let me see.." She leaned in to look at his hairline more closely. "Good grief--no! Not when the problem is...miniscule! I would not recommend it. There are dyes but they can be very harsh. Why, an old neighbour of mine used one to cover over a bit of grey and handfuls of her hair came out and have not regrown!" she declared, putting rather more dramatic emphasis on her words than was necessary. 

It had the desired effect as Aramis gave a small but perceptible shudder. Looking over Constance's shoulder he said, "Ah, here at last, is d'Artagnan!" for he had spotted his friend approaching with their mounts, "Well, you have given me scones, pastries and good advice," he murmured smilingly. "Have you any more for me before we leave?" 

Constance couldn't resist looking over her shoulder for a moment, smiling at her approaching fiance, then turning back to Aramis, she said softly, "Only that concerns, however small, are best shared. And to trust in the power of love." Then she smiled and squeezed the hand that was still holding hers before releasing it 

"Ah, what is this?" d'Artagnan said jestlngly, directing a mock-severe glance at Aramis. "You have too much ennui to wheedle the cook out of some decent stew but can happily make charming conversation with my fiancee?" 

"Your fiancee," Aramis retorted lightly, "Is rather more worth the effort, as she is the most exceptional of women. I know I've said it before, but how did a Gascon reprobate like you manage to capture such a prize?" 

"It's sometimes a complete mystery to me!" d'Artagnan said laughingly, and the couple leaned together for a brief kiss on the lips. 

"I will see you later," Constance told her lover with an indulgent smile. "Now, be off, the pair of you, get those horses to stable, and the scones to your friends!" 

Both men gave her sweeping courtly bows and she turned on her heels and walked back towards the palace with a little smile on her face, congratulating herself on having sown seeds that would reap a goodly harvest. 

Aramis put his pastries away in his saddlebag, and the musketeers mounted their horses and made towards the palace gates, giving the guards there the requisite salutes. When they were out of earshot and trotting along side by side, Aramis turned to look at d'Artagnan. 

"You told her!" 

"About your...small concern. I did. Don’t be mad at me. It's just that Constance has a way of putting things that seems to make sense of them. Like one small grey hair not being the end of life as you know it." 

"It is quite small, isn't it?" Aramis said, looking considerably lighter in mood than he had done at lunch time. 

"Tiny!" d'Artagnan shot back at him. "Look, it's easy enough for me to dish out advice. I don't suppose I'll be happy to see my first grey hair," he added philosophically. 

"Thank you for helping me see it in a slightly different light," Aramis said gratefully. "And what of the scones?" 

"Ah--mind on greater priorities!" d'Artagnan teased. "All properly divided and loaded in the saddlebags,", he assured the other and they chatted aimiably about the need to bring better back up supplies when on palace guard duty and other schemes that might prevent the necessity of flirting with the cook. Before long they were passing through the palace gates and dismounting. As they pulled their supplies out of their saddlebags, Aramis looked over at his companion. 

"You make quite a combination, you and your beloved," he said smiingly. 

"So do you and yours!" d'Artagnan replied, with a twinkle in his eyes. Aramis was about to pick up his mare's reins and lead her towards the ostler, but d'Artagnan grabbed them instead. 

"I'll do that," the Gascon said, clapping his friend on the back and commanding gently, "Go and see him!" 

Aramis offered his friend a grateful smile. 

"Enjoy your scones!" d'Artagnan threw Aramis a little wink over his shoulder as he turned to lead both horses off towards the stables, leaving the other free to walk the short distance into the main courtyard and a reunion with Athos. 

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	4. Chapter 4

The main courtyard in the garrison was, as usual, bustling with musketeers going about their business. It didn't take long for Aramis to spot Athos, who was standing not far from the staircase leading to the Captain's office, which Aramis knew he was likely to have recently exited, as he'd had an appointment with the temporary commander this afternoon. His view of Athos was side-on, and though he never broke his stride, he took a moment to enjoy it. Drinking in the relaxed yet still commanding elegance in Athos's posture; something that had drawn Aramis's attention since the first moment he laid eyes on him. Increasing his pace slightly without trying to look like he was hurrying, Aramis wondered if he was ever going to stop having the lift in his heart, the flutter of butterflies in his stomach whenever he saw Athos, even after a short absence. 

A fellow officer, passing with his horse, stopped to greet Aramis, thus blocking his view. After a brief exchange of greetings the other went on his way, leaving Aramis's field of vision clear again. Unfortunately, the sight that greeted him was not quite so pleasurable. Athos had been engaged in conversation by the young, dark and unfortunately attractive Corporal Poulin. However, Aramis took in a deep breath and forced himself to retain the positive frame of mind with which he'd returned from the palace. 

Though there was still some distance between them, Athos seemed to be aware of his lover's approach by some sixth sense and turned his head slightly. There was a discreet flash of greeting in his eyes when their gazes met. Of course it was always necessary never to betray in public that their relationship was anything other than it had always appeared. 

Athos had turned back towards the younger musketeer and although his expression was equable enough, whatever he said caused a swiftly schooled flicker of disappointment to cross the younger man's features. Poulin gave a respectful nod of his head to Athos and headed off towards the stables. The interloper's departure lifted Aramis's mood as he moved towards Athos. There were any number of legitimate reasons why the younger man should approach Athos. Especially within his promotion pending but a lover's instinct told Aramis that Poulin's fishing expedition had personal motives. Buoyed by memories of Constance's advice, he was resolved, however, to keep a sense of proportion. 

Athos was equally glad to see his friend . How time dragged on days like today, when Aramis wasn’t close by. And he had particularly wanted today's duty to be over so he could get to the bottom of what had produced this morning's unease. As they drew near to each other he was pleased to see that although there was some tension in Aramis's posture, he gave off less worried aura than he'd done earlier. 

"Well, mon ami," he ventured, always conscious of keeping up a normal appearance whenever others were close by, "How was your stint at the palace?" 

"Largely uneventful, though a little more fragrant than of late." They exchanged little smile. Aramis was referring to the scent of Rochefort, which had cast its malodorous cloud over the royal household these past few months. 

"And the stew--was it any better?" 

"Worse, if possible. Like the face of the cook, which does not improve on acquaintance," Aramis said in a joking vein, still conscious of other ears close by. "Are you signed off duty?" 

"I am, just now. D'artagnan?" 

"Stabling the horses. He plans to have a meal with Porthos then go back to see Constance later." 

jj

"Then shall we go?" They headed towards the gate together. 

"This news of the stew is not good!" Athos said with mock chagrin as they stepped outside the garrison precint. "Remember, Porthos and I must endure it tomorrow." To anyone within earshot they would appear just as they had always done: comrades going off to share a meal or a drink at the end of a day's duty. 

"D'Artagnan and I are resolved to take back-up rations in future! But speaking of food from the palace, I have better news. I bring not only Constance's regards, but gifts. Scones, from her own fair hands, and blueberry macaroons, from the royal pastry chef." 

"Good news indeed!" There was a pause, then a tiny uplift of the corner of Athos's mouth. "Something sweet to enjoy later." The smallest of sideways glances told Aramis that he wasn't only referring to the desserts. As they looked at each other, Aramis felt as though a tingling current of anticipation ran between them strode down the street together. It really did take the merest nudge to set it off these days and Aramis was never more glad of the short distance back to their lodgings as they praised Constance's cooking and talked of other routine parts of their days for the benefit of anyone who might be within range. 

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"Ah, it's good to be home," Athos said with a little smile as the door closed behind them and he unfastened and pushed off his cape. It was a moment that often felt like a shedding of the outer, public self; embracing the luxury and privacy of their new reality. Aramis, who'd already divested himself of his cape, held out his hand to collect Athos's, and regarded his lover through lowered lashes. 

"So that you may taste the blueberry pastries?" 

"No, Something much sweeter..." 

There was that moment of acknowledgement, of delicious anticipation in their eyes as they moved together. Athos's arm circling around the other's waist, drawing him closer, and Aramis stepping into the embrace, his own hand going behind Athos's neck to incline their heads together. Lips met, as did tongues, in welcome caress, curling around each other. They continued to duel lightly, enjoying each other's taste. 

"Oh, I have been thinking about that all day," Athos said with satisfaction, as he pulled away, but only slightly. 

"As I think about it all day," Aramis admitted and couldn't help reaching over for another sweet, brief kiss. "Every day," he confessed with an almost shy lowering of his lashes that made Athos's heart twist. 

Athos was tempted to linger in the embrace but he knew they had things to talk about so he put his arm round the other's shoulder and they made their way into the living room. As they sat down at the nearby table, Aramis steeled himself to bring up the subject that he knew would niggle at him all night if he didn't address it. 

"What did Poulin have to say to you?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could, while Athos reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. The nobleman had been prepared for something of the sort as soon as he'd felt his lover's gaze on him and the young corporal back in the yard. 

"Oh, he just asked me to put in a good word for him with the Captain for any extra jobs that might be forthcoming." 

"Eager to show off?" Aramis quirked a somewhat sceptical eyebrow at him. The corporal, like many of the unit, would be aware of Athos's impending rise to commander. 

"Just a young man wanting to prove himself, as you and I did once," Athos said evenly. "We'll see if he proves capable. I'm prepared to support and encourage him--professionally, that is," he added sagely. "Any other...personal agendas he might have are entirely in his own head and nothing to do with me." He increased his pressure on Aramis's hand slightly. He had been aware of the wary glares the other had given the handsome young soldier whenever he had appeared in their proximity of late. 

"Yes, if he keeps his mind on his duty," Aramis said, somewhat tartly, but looked more mollified as he returned the pressure of Athos's hand. 

"Another interesting thing I found out today," Athos added. "Lieutenant De Lyon is being reassigned to us next month." 

"Treville isn't rethinking his offer to you, is he?" Aramis asked, a little anxiously. He would hate to see his lover's well-earned promotion being taken by another officer, no matter how capable and well-liked. 

"No, nothing of the kind," Athos assured him. "Treville sees it more as a means of support and I'm quite happy with the idea. De Lyon is a good man and I can work with him and draw on his experience if needed." 

"As long as it is you who is in command of the regiment!" Aramis said fiercely. 

Athos, loving this display of protectiveness and loyalty, stretched back in his chair with the grace of a lion waking from sleep, then favoured the other with a wonderfully aristocratic smile. 

Aroused as ever by Athos's ability to turn on that commanding aura in the blink of an eye, Aramis gave a soft, self-mocking chortle. "Oh, that I should have doubted that, even for a second, my..." he leaned forward, putting his lips on Athos's, "...Lord..." He lingered in the kiss for a moment, enjoying the pleasurable indulgence of Athos's tongue nestling against his. "Well, as long as de Lyon's return is good for the regiment," he added. And, no doubt, for Corporal Poulin!" 

"Amen to that!" Athos gave a little snort. Garrison gossip had it that the Corporal and the returning Lieutenant had been in a liaison prior to the other's secondment to another regiment. Athos reached across and stroked Aramis's cheek. "Now, enough of Poulin! I would rather concentrate on you. I am glad to see you looking in better cheer than you did earlier. Is it that I have not been giving you enough space on a morning?" 

"No, I love waking up beside you," Aramis declared fervently. "It is a great joy for me. And how you look at me. What I said was more of a comment, not a complaint. I'm sorry it came out that way." 

"Well, if it's not that, then something was troubling you this morning. Will you not tell me?" He let go of Aramis's hand and cupped the other's face in both of his. "If I've done something wrong, I'd like to put it right. Have I been too demanding?" he ventured. "Or crowding you too much?" 

"No. NO," Aramis reiterated firmly. He lifted one of Athos's hands away from his face and raised it to his lips. "It's nothing you've done and I can never get enough of what you give me. It's something that got on my mind and when I tell you," he rolled his eyes heavenward, "It's going to sound....so stupid!" 

Athos looked at him with a patient, receptive expression. 

"Well, all right," Aramis said. "This morning, when I was getting ready, I noticed something. A grey hair!" he added in a rush, for it was the easiest way to get the words out. 

Athos felt a little stunned, then a series of connections clicked in his mind. Oh, my darling, he thought, I think I know how to handle this. He made sure not to betray the slightest hint of amusement. 

"A grey hair?" he said. "And this is your first?" 

"Yes," Aramis replied with a trace of glumness and embarrassment. "As I said, it is a petty, stupid thing to be concerned about." 

"Where is it?" Athos asked gently. "Show me." 

The beautiful eyes looked back at him questioningly. 

"So that I can kiss it," Athos declared with a smile. "For it is a new part of you that I haven't met before, and I want to greet it." 

Aramis stared back at him. He wasn't sure exactly what reaction he'd expected: gentle amusement, perhaps, or some dismissive comment, but not...this. In a slight daze, he indicated his left temple. 

Athos leaned in closer and saw it: the smallest of grey hairs. A tiny but beautiful contrast to the dark hair he loved to caress with his fingers. He did just what he said he wished to do: pressed his lips gently to Aramis's temple, made a trail of soft kisses down over his cheekbone, his jaw, finally to his lips, where he let his tongue make a sweet and tender incursion. 

"Did you think, my darling, that this little addition to your beautiful self could somehow make me...go off you?" 

The flash of vulnerability that appeared in his lover's eyes went to Athos's heart like an arrow. 

It was just...a bit of a shock, that's all," Aramis murmured. "Oh, I know it's just a sign of the passage of time; that I'm getting older. That doesn't worry me. It's the way things are and comes to us all. It was just a reminder that I will not always be as I am now, when you look at me. And that there are others--younger--who you might in time come to look at, who do not show the passage of time so much, and who pleased your eye more." There was a heartbreaking honesty in the direct gaze he gave his lover, then his courage faltered a little and he looked down. "And, that if you preferred--" 

"Sweetheart, come here!" Athos commanded. He wasn't going to listen to another minute of this self-doubt. He reached round the corner of the table, pulling the other to his feet then tugged him down firmly onto his lap. He swiftly folded Aramis into his arms and gave him a powerful, searching kiss. Aramis's arms went round him in turn and he responded with helpless, passionate surrender. When they broke for air Athos surveyed his lover's face with gently amused disbelief. "Others? Prefer? If there are other handsome young men around I might have had some awareness of them but I have not had the chance to notice--as I have been busy falling more and more in love with you!" 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The handsome lieutenant is not unlike a certain Cornish 18c gentleman who has made our hearts flutter this year. But about 10 years younger!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to do a bit of a coitus interruptus on this but I have typed up three chapters in as many days so need a break. Hopefully I will have the last bit done by Christmas. Thank you for everyone who encouraged me!

Athos continued. "I am suffering from a condition that is affecting my concentration and my peripheral vision, because alI I seem to be able to see is you! Now, you have some expertise in the medical field," he teased. "Do you think I should seek professional help?" 

"I may not be the best person to ask about that," Aramis said, a little bubble of laughter rising in his throat. "My opinion may be somewhat...prejudiced." His eyes glowing with an intensity that made Athos's heart sing, Aramis leaned in towards his lover again, bestowing a deep and tender kiss upon him. He felt a tremor of arousal run through his own body, and sat as he was on Athos's lap, could also feel the throb in the other's groin, which only served to stoke his own desire. 

"You know, I don't think I will seek medical advice. It's expensive," Athos's tone was still teasing when they eased apart slightly, but there was a richer, deep timbre in his smoothly aristocratic voice. Aramis had come to know that it was like an overture to music that would soon flood his senses. "And instinct tells me that this condition is incurable. Completely. And that the appearance of one grey hair, or a whole head of them, or age or time. will not make any difference." He touched his finger to the place on Aramis's temple where the grey hair resided. 

"This condition of yours could be contagious," Aramis murmured as Athos's fingertip traced down his cheekbone. 

"Well, I am not sorry to hear that," Athos said as he tightened his hold on his lover. "For it's my hope that when my first grey hair appears, which I have a feeling might be in the not too distant future," he added with a wry chuckle, "That we will greet it together, along with any others that may appear, as they inevitably must, all the days of our lives. Unless you find the prospect of me with grey hair ...off-putting?" 

"What?" Aramis exclaimed with disbelief. "I love you. I love you! Everything about you." The words came out of him in a kind of fierce rush. "And there is nothing that could ever make me stop!" 

It was Athos's turn to look overwhelmed. "I think you just took the words right out of my mouth," he murmured and they joined in another kiss, which still had fire, but was slower, deeper, more tender. 

"All the days of our lives? Really?" Aramis said in a kind of dreamy wonder as he rested his head on Athos's shoulder for a moment. 

"Yes, really," Athos assured him. "You know, it has just occurred to me that I have never actually said that to you. That somehow, in my haze of showing you how much I want you, I've sort of assumed that you knew! Which is rather...remiss of me." 

Aramis pulled back slightly and looked his lover in the eyes. "Well, we have done plenty of...showing, mon cher, have we not?" he murmured with a lascivious little lift of the corner of his mouth. "But if there has been any lack of ...telling, that is equally my fault. I have never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. Sometimes I just...cannot find the words." The smile spread to his eyes: self-deprecating, shyly honest, completely beguiling. 

" Do you think that I am any different? That I have ever--ever--known anything like this?" There was a smile, an invitation in the rich deep tone that made Aramis thrill to his bones. "But come to bed with me, and I will try to show...and tell you...how I really feel about you." 

The eagerness, love and passion reflecting back at him from Aramis's eyes sent a great jolt of lust through Athos: enough to make him almost give in to the impulse to pull his lover up onto the kitchen table and have him right there. But that was not what he was trying to convey, so he climbed to his feet as soon as Aramis lifted himself off his lap, and tried to keep some sort of control over the throbbing in his penis as they headed for the staircase; Aramis slightly ahead of him, gripping his hand. 

"What of the pastries?" The teasing gleam in Aramis's eyes as he mounted the stairs, looking back at Athos, was adding to the strength of the other's burgeoning erection. 

"The pastries can wait," the nobleman said in a commanding tone. "This can not!" He was beginning to learn how a little bit of aristocratic arrogance, applied at the right time, seemed to please his lover, for Aramis moved with great alacrity towards the bedroom, shouldering himself out of his leather doublet and reaching to help Athos off with his, throwing both garments over the end of the bedstead. They pressed their bodies eagerly together, arms encircling each other. 

"A month ago.." Aramis murmured in teasing gasps as he nibbled on Athos's lower lip, "Nothing would have come...between me and the pastries....My priorities..." he added, kissing the quirk on Athos's upper lip, "Seem to have changed..." Then a sultry flicker of the beautiful eyes as his gaze reached to meet his lover's. 

Ye Gods, it’s a wonder I am not the one who has the grey hair--a head full of them, Athos thought--the way my heart races when he looks at me like that. "An effect of this...affliction, perhaps?" he managed, pressing his groin harder against Aramis's; feeling the answering throb there. 

"Oh...my Lord...I am sorely afflicted.." the other declared with mock sorrow, but not incapacitated enough so as not to be able to guide Athos's hand down to the bulge in his breeches, pushing himself against the caressing fingers. 

"Oh, yes, you are, aren't you?" Athos's eyes widened appreciatively as he felt the evidence of the other's increasing hardness. "I think that needs some....attention, don't you?" He reached to loosen the fastening of Aramis's breeches then sneaked his hand inside, kneading the erection through the material of his lover's braies. Aramis's appreciation showed in the glazed gleam in his eyes; the quickening of his breath. There was a little gasp of disappointment when the stroking fingers left off from their work but then one of surprise when Athos's hands moved under his buttocks, lifting him up. 

With eyes locked, their bodies, which were learning to communicate with each other in a language beyond words, adjusted to each other. Aramis's arms tightened their grip around the other's neck, allowing Athos to raise him more easily. That allowed Aramis to wrap his legs around Athos's waist as he allowed himself to be carried the short distance to the bed. They rolled together; a playful tussle, laughing with the sheer joy of it, until Aramis manoeuvred himself exactly where he wanted to be: with Athos astride him, so that the bulk of his erection butted more forcefully against that of his lover. In answer, Athos rotated his hips, increasing the friction between them. Transfixed, as ever, by the erotic glaze beginning to transform Aramis's features, he leaned over and once again kissed the little grey hair on his friend's temple. 

"Now this, or any other companions that it may acquire," he murmured, voice starting to thicken with lust, "Is never going to diminish the beauty of your smile, or your eyes. Trailing tender kisses down the other's face, he continued to voice the thoughts he'd promised to share. "You are my light...." Tongue darting between eagerly parting lips...."My warmth...My sun god Apollo..." 

They kissed with more urgency this time: deep, fiery duelling of tongues, while Athos undid the fastening of the other's braies, fingers now free to trace the length of Aramis's erection. "And I have come to worship at your shrine." 

Aramis let out an almost purring exhalation of breath. The caresses, combined with the words delivered in that rich, velvety tone had him feeling like his flesh was dissolving. He found the hint of the pagan in the classical allusion almost unbarebly thrilling. 

"As I..." he managed at last, pushing himself against the hand that was now encircling and stroking his phallus, "Am come to the temple of Zeus..." Glazed eyes locked with those of his lover, and he felt as though lifted outside himself, marvelling at the depths of the lascivious streak Athos had opened up in him, beyond anything in his previous experience. "To be filled with his love..." 

Athos's blood pounded thunderously in his temples and he fought for breath. Quite how he managed not to come there and then, and at other times when Aramis said things like that to him, looked at him in such a way, was a source of mystery to him. Yet somehow he had managed, as now, to muster an extra bit of strength and control to hold himself back. 

"Well, I would not presume to be Zeus," he said with a shaky laugh. "But let me see if I can oblige on his behalf!"  
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	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has come in chunks but this way it should be finished for Christmas. Hopefully the last bit tomorrow!

Athos knelt up, pulling his shirt over his head, then pushed off his braies, his erection springing free and insistently hard. Aramis also divested himself of his remaining clothing with a sense of urgency. He lay on his back again and pulled Athos down with him, hand on the back of the other's neck, so that their mouths could join; his tongue a demanding invader. Hungry for his lover's taste, he sucked on Athos's tongue, then nipped at it with his teeth. 

In some other world, Athos felt the stars wheel above him, as he responded passionately to his friend's overtures with his own tongue and lips. "God!" he gasped, coming up for air, "When you kiss me like that, it feels like the power of a god enters me!" 

"Then let it!" Aramis's beseeching eyes glowed like dark jewels as he parted his legs, lifting his hips to grind his erection against Athos's. "Then enter me!" 

More than ready to oblige, Athos reached for a pillow, and placed it under the other's buttocks. He rolled over towards the bedside cabinet where he swiftly found a pot of the scented lotion they used as lubricant. *You say you're having trouble finding words, sweetheart?* Athos smiled inwardly as he uncapped the jar with shaking hands, scooping some of the lotion into his palm. *I don't think so!* 

Aramis co-operated eagerly, moving into position as the other knelt, centring himself and lifted his lover's legs over his shoulders. Aramis gasped, squirming with delight as Athos placed one finger, then another inside him. He still found himself shocked to the core sometimes by the alacrity with which he was ready to give himself to his love; by the things he found himself saying and doing to make it happen. Felt himself blush at his own daring as he rubbed his palm over Athos's then moved his hand caressingly over the other's cock, spreading the lotion. Aramis had always been a sensual man but sometimes with Athos, he felt as though another, even more wanton being had taken possession of his body. But he was too happy, too consumed, too on fire with need to care. 

"You...lift me up to heaven. ….Oh Gods!" he gasped as the head of Athos's phallus pressed against his anal ring, "When you come in me!" 

"Then let's go there together!" The throb in Athos's voice had a depth greater than that of oceans as he pushed forward, desperate to bury himself in the warmth of the flesh closing around him, welcoming him, but managed to pull back a little, easing in and out an inch or so. 

Aramis moaned in pleasure, in frustration; lost in a gorgeous haze of erotic suspense. "Please, give it to me!" he heard himself urging, pushing his hips upwards. "Give me everything. All of you!" 

Athos gave a strong forward thrust of his hips, his cock sliding into the other's channel as Aramis's legs came to wind round his neck, drawing him in more deeply. Like a sword into its sheath. Excalibur into its magical scabbard. And I on my own personal quest for the grail, Athos thought as he was surrounded and enfolded in hot, pulsing flesh, marvelling at the wild metaphors that would often fly through his head at these moments of deep physical bliss. It had, truly, never been like this for him before with anyone else. 

"All of me," he declared, a growl of passion in his voice. He had put his hand under Aramis's buttocks, pushing himself more deeply in. "You already have everything. Heart, body, soul--you own me!" He rotated hips, pressing down then lifting his pelvis again. 

"And you me!" Aramis answered, as they started to move together, joined bodies surging in synchronised, increasingly frenzied rhythm. "I love you--love you--love you!" he cried helplessly with each downward thrust of the cock sliding so deliciously inside him; lost in rapture, finding himself as always in the instinctive trust in the power he let the other have over him when they were coupled like this. Just wanting to take the love being offered to him, and to give and give and never stop giving. 

"Oh yes, and I you--so much!" Athos moaned, deep in the thrall of pleasure as the excitement and heat mounting between them. There might be something more beautiful than the way Aramis's face looked when they made love, he thought hazily, drinking in the sight of his lover's head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy, the lovely long line of his throat exposed. Sheen of sweat on his body that matched Athos's own. If so, it must be in heaven and not on this earth. It simply wasn't possible. 

"Oh--yes! Yes!" Aramis panted. "That's so good..." His hips pushed upwards to match the thrust of his lover's. anxious to keep Athos within him, keeping them united in the passion as long as he could, knowing he was close to the crest of the wave, peaking.... 

A long, shuddering sigh went through him as he came: body arching upwards against Athos's, his come splashing over the other's groin, which enflamed Athos all the more. The nobleman felt the gathering rush in his own balls, and answering the plea in Aramis's eyes, gave one last deep thrust, body quivering as he bathed the other's channel with the rush of his seed. As the tremors ran through him, his lover's eyes held his gaze, drinking in Athos's climax with as much pleasure as he had just taken in his own. 

So this is how it feels to visit the Jovian heights, Athos thought, feeling his inner self go into freefall. Exultant, light-headed, breathing rarified air. He leaned over, answering the invitation in his friend's eyes, in the arms reaching round his neck, for a kiss; regretting the loss of the lovely sheath for his now softening phallus but glad of the arms that encircled him, the lithe body pressed against his as they rolled to lie side by side. And lips, tender and grateful, that caressed his own, tongue so welcoming he wanted to drown in the sweetness of the kiss it engendered. Breathing again after a moment, he found himself laughing softly as he stroked the back of Aramis's neck. 

The other lifted a questioning eyebrow. Athos hesitated, but remembered he had promised to share what was on his mind. 

"Oh, just thinking, my angel, of how it is to be on...Mount Olympus! That the view is breathtaking..." His eyes travelled slowly down Aramis's body. "And that it is a very long way up!" 

The look Athos directed at Aramis made his heart turn over. 

"Well, it is just as well," he answered softly, leaning in for another kiss, "That neither of us is afraid of heights!" 

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	7. Chapter 7

Aramis inclined his head, planting a kiss on Athos's neck then on his earlobe. "I think it is as well that we become....what is the word...acclimatised..." His tongue flicked over said earlobe, then he nibbled on it, before whispering. "As I think we will be spending some time there--and at greater altitudes!" 

"Oh, do you think so?" Athos murmured laughingly, then covered the other's mouth in a kiss. "Higher that Olympus?" 

Aramis looked back at him, those captivating eyes with their teasing gleam working their magic again. "All the way to the stars," he said, with a lift of the corner of his mouth. 

Athos wondered for the hundredth time how Aramis could do this to him. Feeling a little twinge in his balls again. *Minutes after having him, making me ache for him again.* 

"Now, that is a very lofty ambition," he declared. "One that Zeus himself might find a challenge, without an interlude to --" 

"Raise a thunderstorm?" Aramis responded, laughing. "Well, we don’t have ambrosia, but we do have pastries downstairs that we could avail ourselves of presently. Which might fuel further attempts at...ascending! Well," he protested at Athos's teasing lift of an eyebrow, "It has been a long time since what passed for lunch at the palace." 

"Didn’t you charm your usual extras out of the cook?" Athos asked, moving his hand round his lover's back to get a more comfortable grip on him. 

"My heart wasn't in it, somehow," Aramis admitted. "Poor d'Artagnan had to endure the boring stew and my poor company." 

"Did you speak of--" 

"The grey intruder? " Aramis looked extremely sheepish. "Yes, he sort of got it out of me. He was very good--didn't laugh too much and told me to talk to you."  
Got a good head on him, our young Gascon, Athos thought as he planted another kiss on Aramis's lips then said, "Well, let us hope he and Constance will also enjoy the pastries tonight! A good idea, since it has been quite a while since I shared that pie with Porthos for lunch. 

"In a moment, maybe?" Aramis hitched himself closer to his lover, just wanting to savour the aftermath: the closeness. their talking and teasing. "I love the...thunderstorm. But I love this also. Love all of it, every moment with you." 

"And I with you," Athos asssured him. "Whatever, whenever. And if I have been slow in putting that properly into words, then forgive me. I've been too used to hiding my true feelings. I'm somewhat out of practice." 

"There is nothing wrong with the way you...express yourself," Aramis assured him, his gaze very tender. 

"Well, I hope I have at least managed to persuade you that one or more grey hairs are of no import." Athos's brushed the hair back from his lover's temple. 

"Well, I am not overjoyed at its arrival," Aramis confessed. "But you have convinced me," he laid a light kiss on his friend's lips, "That I--we--have better things to do than worry about it. However, after the pastries, you could always try...convincing me some more." 

It really was criminal, the havoc that one little upwards sweep of those long lashes could create, thought Athos. And he was happy to be the victim. Happy, he realised. Not just getting by. Not merely content. Just...happy, for the first time in what felt like forever. 

"Glad to oblige," he said, following through with a kiss pressed on the area where the grey hair resided. 

"It is something one learns to accept, I suppose," Aramis continued, and Athos knew his expression of chagrin was only for play, "As with this affliction of ours, for on reflection, I don't believe it can be cured. So it is something we will simply have to live with." His smile widened, brightened, like sunshine streaming through clouds after a storm,. "All the days of our lives." 

Athos was left with no choice but to kiss this wrecker of havoc, who would doubt continue to work his magic long after his own hair started to turn grey.  
He nodded. "Yes, we will, All the days of our lives." 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the little grey hair saga, and a merry Christmas to anyone looking in tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have other things on the go, which I should be finishing but this is the fault of Vera_dAuriac!


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